


First Time for Everything

by Singull



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singull/pseuds/Singull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He and Sieghild Hawke have had a lot of firsts over the years, but some stuck to the storyteller's mind more than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> A little plot bunny that hit me the other day that I got started on during my downtime at work. U; I'm fairly certain smut will eventually come along, so thus the M rating.
> 
> This will just be a little collection of drabbles/one-shots from random points in time in Varric's and Sieghild's lives, spanning over the course of DA2 to DA:I (though I'll hold off adding DA:I to the "Fandoms" list until there's an entry that actually involves it xD).
> 
> Anyway, on with it! Hope everyone enjoys it. :)

Their first kiss wasn't romantic, full or love, or even _good_. In fact, it was pretty awful. He didn't like to even count it as their first because it was just so below what that minx was actually capable of. Unfortunately though, it _was_ the first time he got to kiss Hawke--or well, had Hawke kiss him.

It had been brief, sloppy, and there was a bit more tongue than either of them usually liked. Hawke had been hilariously out of it, and instead of suggesting she streak through Lowtown, as was Isabela's usual dare when she caught their unwitting leader drunk out of her gourd, she got the red head to unsteadily plop in his lap and plant one on him.

He had easily unbalanced her and sent her toppling over onto the floor, leaving her a cackling mess as he wiped saliva off of his mouth, all the while glowering at their resident pirate queen. Isabela had just laughed and snorted loudly in response before heaving her partner-in-crime up to her feet, and led the still hysterical mage away to the her room to sleep off the booze. The next morning, Varric had found Hawke sprawled out on Isabela's bed, snoring loudly and drooling on the pillows.

He'd have laughed in someone's face if they told him that _that_ was the woman he'd find himself kissing far more willingly (and often) in just a few short years.


	2. Obvious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha, i'm not 100% sure i'm happy with this one, but i've poked and prodded at it long enough. xD;

Their first _real_ kiss was far more enjoyable, even in all its brevity.

They had been enjoying a rare _quiet_ evening in his suite, going over some final pieces of paperwork that needed to be filled out to officially make the old Amell family estate Hawke's property. The dark-skinned mage spent a majority of the evening making wry comments about her sudden rise to noble status. She'd made it clear for weeks that she wasn't all that invested in the idea--the only reason she even wanted the property was so what was left of her family could live somewhere safer (and away from Gamlen). After Carver was plopped with the Wardens and it was just her and her mother left, Hawke wanted even less to do with the mansion, and she made it no secret--being stuck in a big empty estate with just Leandra for company wasn't something the apostate was keen on.

Unfortunately for her, being able to stay in Kirkwall and _out_ of the Circle was too nice of a perk to her "noble-dom" to pass up. Thus why they were doing paperwork that night instead of screwing off around the city.

By the time they had finalized the documents, the two of them had polished off half a bottle of wine (from the dwarf's private stash, of course) and were pleasantly buzzed. As Varric got up to collect all the paperwork to file away and send out later (as much as he liked his friend, she just couldn't be trusted to get these documents turned in in a timely manner--let alone in one piece considering the trouble she always seemed to get into), Hawke stretched out her legs lazily, making pleased noises as she did. The little moans had gone straight to the his groin, making his suite feel a bit warmer than usual. At the time, he didn't think much of it, simply blaming the wine and his self-inflicted dry spell.

In hindsight, it was pretty damn stupid to think it was anything other than that troublesome mage that heated him up so. _Maker's ass,_ how the hell did he stay so oblivious to his own damn feelings for so long?

He'd been about to return to his seat after retrieving his deck of cards, but was stopped in his tracks by the feeling of fingers hooking into his belt and tugging at it. He snorted in amusement and let Hawke lead him closer to her--it was a habit of hers that he'd taken note of earlier on; grabbing her friends and family by a bit of their clothing and pulling like some unruly child that wanted attention. Back then, he never noticed the way her hands lingered, and how she pulled a little more firmly when she wanted _his_ attention.

"I just wanted to thank you for helping with this dumb shit," she said with one of her lop-sided grins plastered on her face.

"It was no trouble, Hawke. Always happy to help," he replied with one of his own charming smiles.

"Eh, well...I'd still like to give you a proper thank you," Hawke shrugged off-handedly, her hand leaving his belt and ghosting up his chest, her finger hooking into the ringed pendant on his necklace.

Varric felt his mouth start to go dry when he felt her tug him closer to herself by his necklace. He cleared his throat subtly and quipped, "Geez, you're not gonna slobber all over me again, are you?"

That got a laugh out of her. Hawke playfully glowered at him once she pulled herself together. "Oh, shut up! I'm so--well...not _sober_ , but I'm definitely not off my ass drunk this time. Now pucker-up. I can't go letting you think I'm a sloppy kisser any longer."

"Ah yes, can't go letting your repu--" Varric didn't get to finish his sentence. Hawke had gently pulled him in even closer, giving him an eyefull of warm brown skin and wine red hair, and the feeling of warm lips pressed softly against his own.

It wasn't at all what he imagined a proper kiss from the notorious flirt would be like. It was light, dare he say even chaste ( _Choir Boy would have been so proud_ ). There was an almost adorable uncertainty to it, which was just so unlike what the storyteller had known of Hawke by then. This woman was as bullheaded as her brother (even if she liked to pretend otherwise), always seeming so damn sure of what she wanted to do and say.

As silly as he felt admitting it to himself, the thought of someone like her, when he knew how she normally was, kissing him with such care had left him a little breathless.

_Shit. It was a no wonder why she'd been so damn popular at the Blooming Rose._

Before Varric could react, the kiss was over and Hawke was pulling away to lean back in her chair, a sheepish grin on her face. Varric blinked quickly to pull himself out of his daze. He shook his head and snorted, trying to act casual, even though he was feeling anything but laid back at the moment. "Satisfied?"

"It takes a bit more than that to satisfy me, serah Tethras," the mage flirted easily, but her teasing smirk quickly faded away into a slightly mortified look, her cheeks and neck a bit redder than they were before. Varric didn't understand why she was so bashful--she'd said plenty worse around him before.

Hawke quickly steered them to a new subject before he could pry, and by the time their cards were dealt out for a game of Wicked Grace, Varric had put the moment behind him and out of his mind.

It wasn't until later, when his guest was long gone and he was settling himself in bed to turn in for the night that it all came back to him, accompanied by an epiphany. So many supposedly little things started to make an embarrassing amount of sense, leaving the renowned storyteller, for once, at a loss for any meaningful words.

" _Oh._ "


	3. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Varric first gave Sieghild her nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ffff i started a new game on da:i with sieghild as an inquisitor and that got me a bit distracted in the writing department since i've written a few random drabbles surrounding au!inquisitor hawke.
> 
> gonna try refocusing though back on this and another fic i've been working on on and off the last few weeks! :B

He didn't know why it took him so long to finally come up with a suitable nickname for the woman. Oh, he'd thought of a few over those first years he knew her, but they never seemed _right_ , so they never stuck.

But one evening when he and their friends just made it back in town from one of their Maker-forsaken nature hikes along the coast, he'd just blurted it out.

"Hey, Sieg...carry me. I think I'm about to die," he whined dramatically as he stopped dead in his tracks, refusing to take another damned step. It felt like he had blisters _on his blisters._

Even with how groggy he was, he somehow managed not to miss out on the initial look of surprise on the mage's face at the sound of even just part of her given name from someone other than her family or Aveline. For a split second he wondered if maybe it was a mistake--maybe she didn't _like_ her first name and that's why she was Hawke to most everyone else--but his doubt was soon squashed at the sight of the biggest and silliest grin he'd ever seen on the red head's face.

The sight of that bright smile and hearing the light laugh that followed it sent a shiver down his spine and had the butterflies in his stomach going nuts--and here he'd thought he was too old for them. He was so lost in his stupor that he didn't even bother to complain when the mage had made her way back to him to heave him up onto her back like some little kid.

Varric smiled slightly to himself as he unwittingly relaxed against the storm mage's warm back, their ragtag group continuing their trek to the Hanged Man (he'd enjoy the ride while he could, he knew he and his "steed" would end up sprawled out on the floor in a heap the second she stepped into the tavern's entryway--she'd likely complain about his weight the whole way down too). After seeing the look on her face at her "new" nickname (it wasn't even original...he'd heard Junior call her Sieg a few times before), he knew straight away that, this time, the name would stick.


	4. Preferences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Varric first realizes how deep he's in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just fyi, i have no idea if i'll be posting chapters in the right order as far as the da2 timeline and my canon for my hawke and varric goes. i'm just kinda writing shit as it comes to me. i'll try and keep things in general order though. ffffs

Varric had always told himself (and others) that he preferred his ladies a bit more...well...his size.

It wasn't that he had anything particularly against the taller variety of women supplied around him in the world, he'd just always found them to be a bit...intimidating. There was just _so much of them._ Dwarven women were a handful on their own (at least, the ones he'd been with always had been), he couldn't imagine what being with, say, a human would be like--that's a lot of leg and arm to deal with.

Despite all his talk though, it didn't take long for a certain copper-eyed mage to catch his attention.

Sieghild was a smartass, funny as hell (in her own groan-worthy way), and shared his love for Kirkwall in all it's horrible glory. Just that had kept him coming back for more time and time again, but always as _just friends_.

After that damn kiss though--and the sudden realization that there was more than just friendly tension between the two of them that came with it--it had become all too easy to notice more than just her sense of humor.

There was the way her blushes started at her neck, the redness slowly creeping up her cheeks and ears, the easy grins that rarely failed to brighten his day, or how she looked especially beautiful by the soft candlelight during their late night games of Diamondback. And _Maker_ , there was her _ass_. He could write books about how amazing it was, and how dumb he felt for not realizing sooner that their difference in height made it so he had a just about perfect view of it whenever she took the lead--which was always.

Sieg might have been a head or so taller than him, but there was hardly _too much_ of her. In fact, he found that there just _wasn't enough_ of her. He wanted more of her by his side, in his suite, in his arms, in his bed. More of her grins, her jokes, her kisses. He _definitely_ wanted to have sex with her, to have those long legs wrapped around him and her hands clutching onto him as they desperately pressed into each other, trying to push one another over that delicious edge, but he also wanted to just _be_ with her. To simply be allowed to exist by her side for as long as he wanted.

When Varric had caught himself yearning for her and her presence for the umpteenth damn time when she'd only just been there with him an hour ago, he finally laughed exasperatedly at himself and acknowledged the big, fat bronto in the room.

He was _smitten._

All his bluster about his preferences in women, all his excuses about why it couldn't or wouldn't work, went straight out the window when he finally admitted it. Unfortunately, now all he could think was one thing:

_'Well, shit. Now what?'_


	5. Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Sieghild disappointed Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha had this mostly written up a week or two ago, but only just now got around to going back through it for rewriting. got a bit carried away with reading the super awesome confederation of valor series by tanya huff, so didn't have the time for writing. xD hell, i haven't even finished it yet.

When she had first told him that she'd started to dabble in blood magic, he didn't know what to think. Being a dwarf, he didn't really follow all that magic shit half the time, but even he knew that the blood stuff was bad news. So, of course, Varric had been weary of Sieg's new...fascination.

He'd been worried for her safety, as well as the safety of those that hung around her (himself included), but he had (in hindsight, stupidly) shoved his concerns back, deciding to trust her when she said she'd be careful. Sieghild was a big girl, he had told himself, she could handle herself. She, of all people, would know when to call it quits.

At first, she'd told him that she would only use her new abilities when she got into a particularly bad scrap while out on her own. As long as those particular scraps weren't with templars around, he told himself that he didn't mind. Boy, he wished he had told her that he _did_ mind, because it didn't take long for her to step over that first line.

The first time she had used blood magic around him and the others, he'd just barely caught her in the act--unlike every other magical ability she had skillfully honed over the years, her use of blood magic was remarkably subtle. An arrow had just grazed her arm; shallow enough to not worry about, but deep enough to make the cut bleed. If he hadn't glanced over to check on her (as he always found himself doing, even in the midst of ugly brawls) at the right moment, he wouldn't have even noticed the soft red haze that snaked around her arm and stave.

The sight had made him stop short (which nearly meant getting his ear sliced off by some punk of a rogue if Rivaini hadn't been watching his back at the time). He knew that Sieg was using blood magic, but actually seeing her in action with it was _unsettling_ at best. He forced himself to shrug it off though, telling himself it was no big deal. It wasn't like she was slicing into her arm all willy-nilly like Daisy did from time to time. She knew what she was doing.

Then she began cutting herself. Another line crossed.

She still kept it subtle. A simple dagger was soon a constant addition on her belt. Nobody would be the wiser for its true purpose--hell, Rivaini and Aveline had even lectured her about keeping some sort basic weapon on her and to learn to fight with a blade, just in case. She kept it unsheathed and positioned _just so_ , making it so if she slipped her arm in just the right way, the blade would bite into her skin, leaving her free to utilize the power hidden in her blood without letting anybody else know--besides himself, of course. She kept the small dagger almost impossibly sharp (he had a feeling she had it enchanted somehow to keep it so); the cuts were easy for even her to close without leaving any obvious markings.

_She knew what she was doing, right?_

Then, one day, she took from some no name Carta thug. She didn't even bother to hide it from their companions.

Broody hadn't been pleased--damn near furious more like. Sieg hadn't helped when she rolled her eyes at the tattooed elf and, in the most simplest terms, told him to stuff it. Shit, Varric didn't even want to try to remember how many hands he'd purposely lost to that damn elf at cards to try and distract him from attempting to kill their thick-headed leader with his glaring alone.

It was then that Varric finally stepped in to confront her himself. 

"You said you weren't going to get in too deep, Sieg. What you pulled...it seemed a bit more than just wading."

She'd replied flippantly, "He was gonna die anyway, Varric. Is it really _that_ big of a deal?" Varric remembered opening his mouth to give his rebuke, but he'd just sighed and shook his head, putting his hands up in surrender. He didn't want to get into it. What was the point? She was a smart gal, he knew she'd pull her head out of her ass soon enough on her own. She didn't need his help.

Then she had taken from _him_. He hadn't gotten into it then either. He had simply shut her out completely. It wasn't all that hard at first--he was passed out at the time. From what he'd been told, the only reason Sieg was spared from Broody's rage was because Aveline had reminded him that they sort of needed to get their (absolutely charming) dwarven friend back to Kirkwall and to Blondie before he kicked the bucket from blood loss. Definitely her phrasing, not his.

After he'd come to and was cleared to go back to his usual business, it had become a little harder to keep her shut out--the damn woman was involved in _everything_ in his life at the time. It was difficult to look at her though, to have her around when she had finally snuck in when he refused to respond to the messages she sent to him the second she got wind that he was fully recuperated.

At the time, seeing her stand in front of him with that stupid kicked puppy look she performed so well--hearing her stumble with her apologies--made him so damn angry. She'd promised him that she knew what she was doing, that she would be careful, that nobody (that mattered) would get hurt. She'd given him so many excuses over the past few months, had spouted out so many promises that always ended up ringing hallow, and for what? To nearly kill him herself because she was too blind and stupid to realize that she'd crossed a line (several lines, really) she had always claimed that she'd never cross.

He'd been angry at her for all her bullshit--for fucking over the trust he had invested in her--but he was even angrier at himself for swallowing it for so long. Sieg was his friend--his best friend even and...and _something_ else, but there were limits to this shit, even for him.

Varric hadn't said anything about all that to her though. Maker, he wished he did. He wished he had just yelled at her, lost his temper and told her that she'd fucked up and that she better be ready to make up for it and then some.

"Get the hell out of my suite, Hawke. I'm tired of looking at you right now," was what he said though, his voice low and flat as he turned his back on her. He'd known how much it'd hurt her for him to cast her out. When he'd jokingly told her that his palatial suite was her palatial suite, she'd taken it fairly literally and his home had quickly become a second home for her over the years, and he'd never had a complaint about it before.

The Hanged Man, in all it's stinking glory, meant as much to her as it did to him, and a childish part of him reveled in that knowledge--that he'd hurt her as much as she'd hurt him, but when he'd turned away from her, he'd just felt like a coward. Turning away from her meant he could stay blissfully ignorant of just how deeply he cut her.

She had left after that, and he had willed himself to ignore her existence from then on. It was hard as hell--even when he was livid with her, he missed her presence. Who else was he supposed to bitch to about all the dumb shit that happened to and around him? Thankfully, knowing that just ended up making him angrier at her. If she'd just kept her damn word, then he wouldn't have needed to push her away. It was easier to put the blame on her, to conveniently forget that his hands weren't exactly clean in this whole ordeal either.

When word in their circle of friends had spread about how he'd gotten hurt, apparently only Rivaini and Daisy had bothered to still see their groups unwitting leader on a semi-regular basis. It tore him up remembering that they were the only ones there for her when Leandra died--it was a no wonder she'd locked herself away in her estate after that. Rivaini and Daisy were good enough people, but they were hardly the first ones Sieg would have reached out to after something like that.

Even if he had pulled himself out of his own hurt feelings and stupid pride back then though, he doubted she'd have even cracked the door open for him.

It wasn't until after she'd been named Champion of Kirkwall that Varric had finally gotten the chance to see her again.

Her study had been absolute shambles. Dozens of books had been tossed all over the floor and the creepy statue that usually resided over the hearth in the small library was missing--the pile of shattered ceramic by the door was whatever was left of it. Papers from the desk had also been scattered across the floor and ink stained the rugs. 

The room had been in such a bad state that he had even offered to help Bodahn clean it up while they all waited for Blondie to do what he could for the newly appointed Champion, but the former merchant had told him not to worry.

"Messere Hawke said she'd clean it herself as soon...as soon as she c-could," the older dwarf stammered, eyes beginning to go misty. It didn't take much prodding to find out that that had been one of the last things Sieghild had said to the man before she'd dragged herself out of the estate with Rivaini and Aveline the night before.

Hearing Bodahn get so choked up made Varric's stomach drop even further than it already had--when he'd first heard how bad she'd had gotten hurt, his whole body had gone cold, his mind immediately jumping to the worst. He'd calmed his fears on his way up to Hightown, too distracted by just how much damage the Qunari caused in just a few short hours throughout the city. Unfortunately, it all had started to come back to him as he did his best to comfort the older dwarven man.

His mind had reeled and obsessed over all the regrets that had suddenly sprung out of the box he'd firmly locked them away in those past few weeks. Had his last words to her really been to get out of his face? He'd never even sent her so much as a letter to give his condolences for her loss. He never even gave her a chance to make up for her shit. What the hell would he tell Junior?

Varric had been near tears by the time that damn cat-obsessed healer finally came out of Sieg's bedroom and told them she'd pull through. After that, the tears had no trouble in flowing freely down his face as relief washed over him.

He vaguely remembered Aveline and Bodahn rounding up the others into the spare bedrooms to turn in for the night, giving him the chance to be alone with that stupid, stubborn, wonderful, brave, absolute moron of a woman.

Seeing her out cold, covered in bandages and stinking of elfroot and Maker knows what other concoctions Blondie had put on her wounds, had been something else. He had just wanted to cry, and yell, and rant--at her, at the bastard that did this to her (even if she herself already made certain he'd more than paid for it), at himself. He should have been there for her, should have told her to knock her dumb shit off from the get go instead of just rolling over and letting her do whatever she wanted without question (which he always did, dammit).

He'd taken hold of her hand gently, the slightest tired smile tilting his lips when she had mumbled incoherently in her sleep.

_'Maker... **please** give me a damn good reason to forgive you already,'_ he had silently prayed as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. _'Give me a chance to do better from now on.'_

When she finally came to days later, all bawling tears and snot and weak snark, she did.


	6. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good god has it really been since march that i last updated this thing?  
> i am teeerrriiibbllllle
> 
> what's worse is i've had a decent chunk of this chapter written for a majority of that time lmao

Sieghild Hawke was, simply put, an awful patient. The woman was clearly never meant to be cooped up in one place for longer than needed, and the fact that she'd been shut up in her estate for weeks before the mess with the Qunari had even reached a peak only made her worse.

What kind of sad sack would be dumb enough to subject themselves to _that_?

_'Oh right. Me.'_ Varric mentally sighed. It felt like the thousandth time he'd found himself asking that same question (and coming to the same conclusion) that week. Clearly, sticking himself in a room with a very fidgety mage was beginning to get to him.

_'Right sure, **beginning** to.'_ The dwarf grouched to himself, leaning forward to gently push the previously shish kebab'd mage back down into her bed for the umpteenth time that day.

" _What?_ " Sieghild snapped frustratedly.

"Down," Varric replied curtly, leveling a hard stare at her when she attempted to (weakly) struggle against his hold. He tried not to outwardly cringe at his tone--he was starting to sound more and more like Aveline, and he didn't like it one bit. _'Rivaini would never let me hear the end of it.'_

A wry smirk tilted his lips as he watched Sieghild finally huff in defeat and flop back against her pillows, which only led her to badly conceal a wince--the dumbass must have irritated that damn hole in her gut again. As much work Blondie had put into healing her since the Qunari attack, it just didn't mean jack shit when the restless red head kept trying to hop out of her bed and put more strain on her body than it was ready for.

"See what happens when you get yourself all worked up?" he taunted, easily ignoring the sullen glare she sent him. He'd seen the same look enough times in just that week to have become immune to what would have been her preferred effects. Varric just smiled dryly to himself and returned to the paperwork he'd been flipping through before he'd been interrupted (yet again) by his charge--he'd had one of his messengers bring up what he couldn't put off while he did his part in babysitting the newly appointed Champion of Kirkwall.

_'Shit, I'm still not used to that title...'_ Varric thought to himself. He was sure that once _the Champion_ was up and ready to run around the city and then some she'd rub it in his face every chance she got. He could just hear it now...

_"Oh Varric, I'm the Champion of Kirkwall. I don't need to do my _own_ property taxes."_

_"Champions of Kirkwall don't have to pay for their own drinks, Varric."_

_"I'm pretty sure Champions of Kirkwall can, in fact, get away with streaking through Hightown."_

_"I'm the Champion of Kirkwall, and I don't have to listen to you, Varric._

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? She already said all that shit before--only difference is she had a better fallback excuse now.

"What're you grinning about? If you're laughing at my pain, I'll be quite distraught, Varric," Sieg's sulking pulled him out of his musings abruptly, making him look back up at her in confusion. Was he grinning? Shit...he was. Ever since she'd regained consciousness and gave a tearful--more like snotful, the woman wasn't a pretty crier--apology to everyone. A part of him still wanted to be just a little mad at her, but everyday that she woke up, even livelier than the day before, it got that much more difficult to hold onto his sour feelings.

Varric gaped in mock offense at her accusation, and he just laughed when he got a disgruntled pout and grunt in return.

"I vaguely remember you not being so mean to me all the time,” she groused.

He snorted derisively and returned his attention to one of his many letters from the Merchants’ Guild. "To be fair, you _did_ almost kill me not all that long ago. I think I deserve a little maliciousness," he shot back, tone playful despite the subject matter.

When silence was the only response he got, the storyteller blinked and glanced up at the suddenly quiet storm mage. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest when he was greeted with the sight of Sieg sadly staring down at her twiddling thumbs. Her lips were drawn back in a tight line as she seemed to be fighting back tears and avoided looking at him.

“Ah…” Varric breathed out and promptly set his paperwork aside, practically jumping to his feet and to her side. “Shit, Sieg--I was just kidding around, I didn’t mean anything by it--”

Sieghild shook her head quickly. “It’s the truth, though. I...fuck, Varric, I nearly killed you. I almost murdered my best friend and I...I have no idea how to make it right--to make us square! There...probably isn’t any way I will be able to make it up to you…”

Varric watched as she bit down hard on her lip and swallowed thickly. He went to gently grab hold of her hand, but she beat him to the punch as her hands reached out and held tightly onto his outstretched one. He pulled his gaze away from their joined hands and looked up, his golden brown eyes meeting with warm copper.

She gave him a small strained smile. “Don’t think I won’t try though.”

Varric softly sucked in a shaky breath before easily slipping his hand from hers and taking a hold of her hands himself. He stepped closer to her bedside and leaned in towards her, lightly bumping his forehead against hers, and breathed in her scent. She stunk of elfroot, poultices, and a bit of wet dog--Rekz barely left his mistress’s side. Maker only knows what condition Sieghild’s bedding would be in by the time she was fully recovered; Oriana could only wash them so many times in a day. “You know, you’re a real handful,” he complained quietly.

“It’s usually one of my best features.” That made him snort humorously, and when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of her usual pleased smirk. Boy, he’d nearly forgotten how much he missed seeing it. During the weeks she had locked herself away, even though he’d been still angry with her, life had just seemed...less full without her constantly involved in it. Varric would never be quite sure exactly when it was that had made this silly mage such a large fixture in his life, to a point where her prolonged absence just felt _wrong_ , but there it was.

“I missed you,” Varric confessed. He gently squeezed her hands, as if the simple gesture would tell her everything he was currently thinking and feeling, everything that’d run through his mind when she was still unconscious. Hell, could it make it clear just how often he thought about her in recent years? How he could so easily pick her out from a crowd, and how his gaze always ended up glued on her when he did? Could it even tell her just how much he--

“You’ve been hassling me for, what? A week now? How could you miss me?” she quipped lightly.

No. No it wouldn’t.

_’Shit...sometimes it’s easy to forget she’s as thick-headed as Junior.’_ Varric let out a short, harsh breath into her face, doing his best not to laugh in disbelief. He really ought to know not to get his hopes up so easily. This wasn’t one of his awful romance novels, for Maker’s sake.

He heard her sniff, but he promptly let go of her hands, opting to take hold of her face and firmly pressed his lips against hers before she could quiz him about what he ate for lunch.

Unlike him during the last kiss they shared, the storm mage was quick to react, her hand almost instinctively sliding up into his hair and gripping hold of blond locks, pulling him in closer. He felt her tongue drag across his lips, but as tempted as he was to give her access and lose himself in the slowly building heat, it just wasn’t the right time. She was taking long enough to heal up as it was without him adding more stress to her body (even if he was positive it’d be a more than welcome form of stress, for the both of them). In the back of his mind though, he admitted that he mostly didn’t want to taste whatever was leftover of those disgusting concoctions Blondie had been shoving down her gullet since her “duel”.

With that unappetizing thought in mind, he (still rather reluctantly) pulled back, swallowing dryly at the sound of her disappointed whine. Darkening copper blinked dazedly back up at him questioningly.

“ _I missed you,_ ” he repeated, hoping the emphasis would make his point clearer.

He could practically see the rusted over gears start turning in her head, her eyes widening slightly as his message finally crammed itself into her skull.

“Oh.” It was almost painful restraining the bark of laughter that wanted to escape him. _’ **Oh.** Just sweeping me right off my feet here, Sieg.’_

"So...does this mean you forgive me?"

Varric took a moment to mentally compose himself, then hummed softly in thought. "Not wholly,” Sieghild’s lips turned down at that. “...but we'll get there. You're a tough person to stay mad at,” he reassured.

She grinned in response. "Says the man that couldn't stand to be around me until I got skewered like a pig."

The merchant prince did his best to look sheepish, but she just rolled her eyes unbelievingly. He smirked slightly at her before reluctantly pulling away and sitting back in his chair to return to his ever growing pile of letters.

Out of the corner of his eye, Varric could just barely see Sieg absently lick her lips. He did his best not to fixate too much on the pink appendage.

"Varric?"

"Mm?" the dwarf grunted noncommittally in response, absently wondering why the hell his editor was so sure his books wouldn’t sell well in Orlais. His gut just felt like _something_ was off whenever she made that claim. Ah well--

"You _smoooooched_ me," his thoughts were interrupted by Sieg's playful singsong tone. He sighed heavily and restrained himself from groaning. He didn't even have to look at her to know she had a big smug smirk plastered on her face.

"Sieg, I know it's your specialty, but don't ruin the moment," he replied in his best put upon voice, an unimpressed expression on his face.

His look quickly turned to one of actual amusement though as he watched her move her hand up to her lips and make a motion like she was buttoning her mouth closed, all the while batting her eyes oh-so-innocently. He stood again and reached over to pat her head in the most patronizing way he could muster with a laugh. "Good girl."


End file.
